


A throne so clean you can eat off of it

by Nikkie2571



Series: Nikkie2571's "Four-Sex System Concept" stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Boypussy, Breathplay, Choking, Crying, Crying During Sex, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Fear Play, Fluff, Footjobs, Hand Jobs, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nudity, Oral Sex, Other, Partial Nudity, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Possibly Unrequited Love, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Punishment, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Surprising amounts of fluff, Teasing, Unrequited Love, casual nudity, dubious consent due to sexual slavery, even though Loewe is giving as much consent as he can, he's still a slave because Kyrie is an asshole, original sexes, possible crying kink, proper use of the royal we
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-10-29 18:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkie2571/pseuds/Nikkie2571
Summary: King Dion is dead, his throne now sat upon by his successor Kyrie, who has devised a very unusual way to greet the incoming diplomats who have come to celebrate and negotiate with the new King.Because while the throne is clean and spotless, the same could not be said for the heart and mind of the liman who sits upon it.





	1. Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> if you can recommend any tags to be added, please do so. Allowing this story to reach those who would want to read it is very important.
> 
> Minor Edit (made shortly after posting): changed dialogue in the initial scene to better fit the characterization in the rest of the story

Kyrie looks down into the dark orbs of his servant, of his friend, watching the tears gather there, daring to dangle like small crystals on his eyelashes. He’s kneeled before him, naked save for a collar around his neck and some padding strapped to his shins.

“I won’t do anything you won’t like,” Kyrie says gently. “Not today at least, you know that. You just have to do a good job.”

Loewe sniffles and rubs the back of his hand across his face. “B-but… it’s never been in front of so many people, so many _ important _ people. I’m scared of messing up, o-o-of letting them get to me…” He trails off.

Kyrie takes Loewe’s face in his hands and rubs their noses together. It’s not a kiss, nowhere close to one, but it’s enough.

“You won’t mess up,” Kyrie says softly into the small space between them. “I know it. Because you’ll be focussed on me, on making me happy. The dignitaries won’t even cross your mind.”

Loewe smiles, his eyes crinkling just a tiny bit and Kyrie’s heart beats just a little harder, the softness, the trust in that expression doing what it always does.

“So, you’ll do it?” Kyrie asks. “Cuz you know what happens if you say no.”

Loewe nods and Kyrie ruffles his auburn hair. It’s been cut short, ugly and unruly, but not too short.

Kyrie smirks and grips some of Loewe’s hair and then slowly pushes his servant’s head towards his naked crotch.

Loewe moans as his lips are forced to kiss the far more sinful lips between Kyrie’s legs, his tongue darting out to caress the tiny head of his clit. Kyrie hums with satisfaction.

Kyrie turns to his guards. “Tell the dignitaries they can come in now,” he commands.

* * *

The doors open and Kyrie resists the urge to laugh when he spots the moment that the nobles notice his state of dress.

He can see their eyes trace up from his bare feet, over the tubes of fabric tightly strapped to his legs, skipping across his bare chest and the cape strewn over his shoulders to finally rest on his bronze face, framed by golden hair.

He’s leaning his head on one hand, his elbow braced on the arm of his throne, while his other hand is busy keeping Loewe’s mouth pressed nicely against his opening.

Kyrie lifts his head, sitting upright, and swings both of his arms out, smiling widely at his guests.

“Welcome!” He calls out loudly, letting his voice carry over the room. “We hope your travels from your respective countries were not too harsh?”

He lowers his hand back to Loewe’s hair, making the young man shudder, his tongue spasming slightly as he traces Kyrie’s lips.

The nobles are all wide-eyed, silent for several long moments, moments that Kyrie spends hoping that his expression doesn’t come off as too amused.

“Umm,” one of the nobles finally mutters. “It’s a great honour to be welcomed into your country and home, Your Royal Highness, King Kyrie.”

Loewe, whether by choice or not, takes that moment to moan loudly, making Kyrie close his eyes for just a short second as the sound reverberates through his hips. When he opens them again, he is greeted by the sight of half a dozen _ very _ uncomfortable faces, each of them trying their hardest to keep facing him, but all of their eyes are very clearly not on him anymore.

“Are you all okay?” Kyrie asks, pushing as much genuine sounding concern into his voice. “You never answered us if your journeys were comfortable or not. If they weren’t, we’re very capable of supplying you all with rooms where you can wait out your symptoms.”

All he gets back is blank faces. Kyrie’s smile stretches wider and Loewe’s tongue plunges into his depths. He can feel the heat of release becoming a reality, drawing closer, but still far away.

“Judging from your lack of response, we take it your travels were all well then?” Kyrie asks.

Still no responses. Kyrie twists his hips so that Loewe can reach deeper. All the nobles notice.

“Is there anything any of you would like to ask us then?”

One of the nobles hand’s twitches, and then she coughs. She doesn’t speak though.

“Anyone?” Kyrie asks, scanning their faces.

“Excuse me, sire…” one of the nobles says nervously. “But, would it be too much to ask what happened to your father, King Dion?”

Kyrie’s smile stretches wider still and he leans back down on his hand. Loewe is flicking at his clit again, trying to get him to cum. 

“That is quite simple, Madam,” Kyrie answers. “We killed him.”

All of the nobles gasp in shock.

Kyrie raises an eyebrow sarcastically. “Oh, did you all think that he had simply died of old age?” He practically crows, followed by a good-spirited laugh.

“Oh, no, we killed him, snuck up behind him when he didn’t expect and stabbed him in the back! We ripped out his intestines and enjoyed the way he cursed us with his last breath.”

The nobles all look sick and Kyrie laughs again, but his breath stutters when Loewe takes his lips, one at a time, into his mouth and sucks gently, pulsing Kyrie’s whole body with pleasure.

Kyrie swallows and then smiles as apologetically as he can at his guests. “Excuse us a moment,” he says, as graciously as he can manage.

He grabs Loewe’s hair in two hands and pushes his face as hard as he can into his hips. 

“Suck on my clit and make me cum, you asshole,” he commands, voice strained. 

Loewe does as commanded and Kyrie’s body lights up, tingling all over, legs going weak, as he then fills his friend’s mouth with the proof of his pleasure.

Kyrie pants for several long moments, bent over his friend’s head, waiting for his brain to start working normally again.

“Good job,” he whispers to Loewe, and Kyrie watches happily as he shudders.

Stretching back to a proper sitting position, he finds that the nobles are all aghast. One of them had even puked in what he can only assume had been disgust.

“K-K-K-King Kyrie!” One of them yells. “D-do you have no shame!?”

Kyrie tilts his head slightly, looking amused. “Do I look like I have any?”

The noble falls silent.

Kyrie smiles again. “I’ll have my servants take you to your rooms, we can start talking properly tomorrow morning.”

Slowly and uncomfortably, they all shuffle out of the room, though they all look a little glad to be away from him.

Kyrie stretches out a hand and gives Loewe a few pats on the head, before pulling him into his lap.

“You did a _ very _ good job today,” Kyrie says to him.

Loewe grins and practically radiates happiness.

Kyrie grabs his face and gives him a kiss on the forehead. “Tomorrow, I’m going to get you off in front of them using my toes and watch them all retch when you scream as you cum.”

Loewe moans at the idea and rests his head on Kyrie’s collar, shivering happily.

Kyrie can feel Loewe’s boner on his thigh.

He ruffles Loewe’s hair once more. “Let’s go to bed, we have a day ahead of us tomorrow.”


	2. Meetings

All the nobles are seated when Kyrie enters the room, their faces falling in resignation as they realize that yesterday was not some kind of horrid hallucination.

“Good Morrow, Messieurs and Mesdames, we hope you all slept well?” Kyrie asks as he takes his seat, lounging across the armrests as if they were a chaise. His legs dangle off one side and he makes a point of bouncing his bare feet a little, showing just how comfortable he is. Loewe moves to stand beside him, his erection almost proudly on display for all these dignified individuals to see.

All of the nobles are tight-lipped, not saying anything.

Kyrie takes a moment to watch them, their faces, as he remains silent, their discomfort growing by the second.

“Y-Your Majesty, sir, can you not have your… slave in the room while we perform our duties as nobles? It is very unbecoming!”

Kyrie smiles. “Are you referring to Loewe here?” He asks, waving a hand towards his companion.

The noblemale nods and Kyrie laughs.

“Oh, good sir! Loewe is not our slave,” Kyrie says with barely restrained joy. “Oh, no, he is far more than that.”

The noblemale’s face crumples with confusion. “What do you mean, sir?”

Kyrie sits properly and beckons Loewe closer with a curled finger. “Just watch and listen, sir,” Kyrie says, not even facing the male.

He then grabs Loewe’s collar and pulls him down, so that their faces are level. He then gingerly takes Loewe's erection in hand and begins to pump.

“Are you mine, Loewe?” Kyrie asks.

“Yes,” Loewe responds immediately.

“Do I ever ask you to do something you don’t want to do?

“No.”

“Would you do something like that anyway, if I did?

“Yes, I am yours after all.”

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes.”

“And are you happy, serving me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love me?”

Loewe blushes in silence for a moment before he responds. Kyrie knew he wasn’t expecting the question though, so he lets it slide.

“I do.”

Kyrie smiles widely and kisses his nose. “Very good, Loewe,” he says as he releases his hold on him.

He returns to his lounging position, his feet facing Loewe and then turns back to the nobleman. “Loewe is not just our slave, he is  _ mine _ , just as much our responsibility as this country now is. He is happy under us, and is a symbol of what we will do as a ruler for our people! He does not leave our side, is that understood?!”

By the end Kyrie is shouting, his passion getting away from him. The man pales and nods quickly, turning back to the centre of the table.

Kyrie smiles and claps his hands together. “Now! We’re here today to talk about what exactly?” He asks the assembled dignitaries.

One of the females shifts a bit before speaking. “The, uh, political ramifications of you opening communications and trading deals with any, all, or none of the countries we represent, sir. For example, if you wish to source wood from the lush forests of Lamerainia, the kingdom I represent, Kiman, will refuse to do any trades with you.”

Kyrie tilts his head and reaches out to Loewe's cock with his toes. “But what if we wage war on your country for your refusal?” He asks casually, as if what he said was a request for tea.

The woman’s face squishes, her confusion so plainly evident. “You have no resources to wage war with, your people are weak and far spread, you only retain power because of the landscape of your realm being hard to enter or leave.”

Kyrie pinches Loewe's erection between his two largest toes, before starting to stroke it gently, followed by rolling his eyes at the noblefemale. “And that, my lady, is where you are wrong.”

All the nobles look at each other, skepticism and mild surprise written into their eyes.

“You see,” Kyrie continues, starting to speed up his ministrations, “our kingdom is very rich in farmland due to the many rivers that flow from the mountains. Every year the farmers pay us taxes and in return, we send harlots into the various villages to provide sex to our people. The harlots get paid well, with minimal returns to us, while also facilitating the growth of our people.”

At this point, the nobles all look aghast, faces pale with shock. Loewe is wiggling, making tiny whimpers as he tries not to cum. Kyrie continues as if unaware of any of it. “However, many of our harlots are now pregnant, so we pay anyone willing to do the work and send them on their way, giving people jobs. Some of them we even send beyond the bounds of our kingdom to whore their way up into the beds of nobles, acting as spies.”

Dawning horror falls on the nobles’ faces. “B-b-but!” One of them stammers out. “King Dion only died a few months ago!”

Kyrie burst into unhinged laughter, stopping his strokes for only a moment as his body shakes uncontrollably. “The letters we sent did not mention when our stupid father died!" Kyrie yells. "We killed him nearly five years ago when we was only fifteen! We've been ruling since then, making changes to the way this country runs and our people are all the happier for it!”

The nobles are all silent, eyes nearly bulging out of their heads. One, however, is glancing at Loewe, her face green as she watches Kyrie stroke with one foot and caress Loewe's balls with the other.

Kyrie let a cocky smile fill his face. “Did you really think we would ask for a meeting like this if we had no power of my own? If our people would not fight for us, for what we've done for them? Compared to our father, who ruled using only fear, we are a saint!”

None of the nobles respond, their eyes blown wide with how much Kyrie has flipped their understanding around on them. He gives Loewe's cock one last pinch with his toes and that's what finally does it. Loewe moans openly and loudly, his cum bursting out in spurts and landing on Kyrie's feet. When he's done, he falls to his knees, giggling a little in his bliss.

The nobles all look sick, horrified awe on their faces. Kyrie has become untouchable to them.

“Now… would you like to start the negotiations properly?” Kyrie asks calmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am unsure how likely it is that I will write a third chapter to this story, but I feel like there is much more to be explored here. For now, please consider this story complete (It will not be marked as such) until such a time that I can write for it again.


	3. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncertainty of the unknown is mankind's greatest fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in like, an hour, and yet it somehow feels like one of the best things I've ever written

Loewe was hiding. Not because he had been told to, but because he wanted to. He loved Kyrie, he really, truly, actually did, but sometimes… sometimes Kyrie scared him, did things that gave glimpse at something darker and actually dangerous inside of him, something he hadn’t seen when he had agreed to be, to stay, as Kyrie’s slave.

Kyrie liked control, and Loewe liked that, liked that Kyrie held that control, liked that Kyrie loved to push that into other people’s faces in cruel and lewd ways. It made him happy, to watch him do that, to exert his power.

Loewe’s dick twitched as he remembered the touch of Kyrie’s toes, the sting of leather, the cold of metal. The various ways Kyrie showed his power over others, over _ him _, how he owned Loewe, and how Loewe let Kyrie do anything to him.

But love… love sometimes got in the way. Made him want something else, something more, something warmer, and made him afraid that Kyrie wouldn’t give it to him.

The door to the closet flung open, light streaming in around Kyrie’s silhouette.

“Now… what are you doing here, precious?” he asked, not sounding curious or worried, but expectant.

Loewe whimpered. “I was punishing myself,” he whispered into his knees.

Kyrie sent still and stiff for a moment before dropping into a crouch, reaching out to cup Loewe’s face.

“Now why on earth would you need to do that?” he asked. “You haven’t done anything worth being punished for. And… punishing you is _ my _ job, you made sure of that.”

Loewe trembled, feeling tears gather. “But… I love you… it makes me want and makes me afraid. I shouldn’t be afraid of you!”

Loewe was gathered in a hug, chest flush with Kyrie’s as the king held him close.

“Oh, Loewe…” he said softly. “You should always be afraid.”

A kiss was gently placed on his forehead. “But not of me.”

Loewe felt himself shaking, terror and calm and uncertainty bouncing around his body like tiny acorns, thrown by the storm that is Kyrie.

His tears spilled down his cheeks, wet and hot and upset as his vision burned and blurred.

“W-why am I afraid!? Kyrie… why am I so afraid!?” he sobbed.

Kyrie shifted around, positioning himself behind Loewe, holding him like a parent would a child.

“Because you’re a silly boy, Loewe,” he said gently as he reached down to grab Loewe’s cock. His other hand went up to grab Loewe’s neck, gently adding pressure enough to be noticable, but not to harm, not to damage.

Loewe hiccuped, feeling himself get hard despite the current of absolute _ upset _ running through him. He cursed his body and his heart with every fibre of his being, but did nothing to stop it. He was a good slave, always would be, for Kyrie, and good slaves let their masters touch them.

The hand on his cock started pumping, slow and gentle, not going anywhere, just there, like a reminder. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, so Loewe cried. The hand on his neck squeezed, just slightly, and Loewe rasped out a gasp from the pressure.

“You’re a silly boy, in love with his master,” Kyrie said, calm and without reprimand. Each finger on Loewe’s throat fluttered, a massage of pressure-pleasure-pain that only made his cock twitch in Kyrie’s grasp.

“You hid from me, literally hid from your problems and your master.”

Kyrie’s grasp went tight on his neck, pain erupting like fire for a single moment.

“And this… this is your punishment, for thinking I would ever hurt you,” Kyrie said with tension and command in his voice.

Loewe released a sob. “Th-thank you!”

Kyrie grabbed Loewe’s head and turned his neck, and then bright-fire-pain erupted as his king bit him hard.

“You are mine!” Kyrie reminded him as he began stroking Loewe faster, whispering into the slave’s broken skin.

“You are mine, and I will always take care of you.”

Loewe whimpered, feeling his every feeling condense down to a point, the burn of his neck and the flow of Kyrie’s hand on his cock filling and pushing him towards the edge.

“So, my silly slave…” Kyrie said lovingly. “I want you to yell the name of the one you love when you spill your seed.”

Loewe hitched an overwhelmed sob. “M-Master…”

The hand on his neck returned. “None of that… Just say that you love me, over and over until you’re ready.”

Loewe’s heart burst, fiery hot and icy cold, blood rushing in his ears like the powerful hand rushing on his cock.

“I love you,” Loewe whispered.

The edge crept closer.

“I love you,” Loewe said.

The edge was right there.

“I love you,” The slave repeated.

His master’s grip on his neck burned for a half-moment and the slave fell past the point of no return.

“Kyrie, I love you!” Loewe sobbed, his cock spurting out pearly treasure, his love in physical form.

Unrushed, Kyrie’s stroking paced down slowly, gently pushing Loewe into overstimulation for a few moments.

“Good slave,” Kyrie said, pressing a kiss to the bite on his neck.

Loewe hiccuped as happy-sad tears spilled from his eyes. “Th-thank you, master.”

“You’re welcome,” Kyrie said, sounding almost truly happy for once. “Now.. never hide from me again.”

Loewe cried as he nodded. He knew, now, that, even if he wasn’t ever loved… he would be safe, here in Kyrie’s hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this was... like so much fun, and I hope you had fun reading it
> 
> Edit (march 25, 2020): Minor grammar correction

**Author's Note:**

> if you happen to like the story, there is a discord for fans of my writings! discord.gg/tBGA5fU


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